Post navigation

A fabulous story by D.Wallace Peach to bring some romance and mystical magic to Christmas. I know you will love it.

The Snow Globe by D. Wallace Peach

Pixabay image composition.

The Snow Globe

Delores perches at the scuffed counter of Dee’s Diner on Christmas Eve, keeping one bespectacled eye on Angie as the waitress mops the linoleum floor. The sign on the front door has already flipped from “Open” to “Closed,” and the crimson Panhandle sky fades to a duller shade of rose, a single bright star glimmering on the eastern horizon.

“Thanks for closing early, Dee,” the teenager says.

“No problem, honey. I got plans too.”

Angie looks up and smiles, clearly skeptical, but too kind-hearted to ask. It’s no secret Delores lives alone, unmarried, and childless—except for Buster the cat, who’s not particularly festive when it comes to the holidays.

At closing time, sole proprietor, boss lady, and down-home cook, Delores has slipped off her God-ugly orthopedic lace-ups and donned her purple slippers. She’s been on her feet since a quarter to dawn, and the dogs are hurting puppies. While Angie dumps the dingy water and tucks in the chairs, Delores cleans the kitchen grease from her fingernails with a tarnished nail file. She squints at an old yellowed newspaper, occasionally popping wilted pea pods between her dentures, too soft to serve up and too wasteful to toss out with the trash.

“Are you going to the carnival this year?” Angie asks.

“No need.” Delores looks through the front windows, ignoring the old rain streaks. Across the paved lot, just to the other side of the train tracks, this year’s carnival sets up at the parish fairgrounds. Through the thick lenses of her bifocals, the colorful lights trimming the booths and spanning the spokes of the Ferris wheel blur into a kaleidoscope of stars. A white-suited man on stilts, graceful as a heron, hangs gold garland decked with chrysanthemum blossoms along the arch over the entrance.

“Have you ever gone?” Angie asks, her tasks done, a denim purse hanging from the crook of her elbow.

“Not since I was sixteen, the first year they came.” Delores looks at the young waitress over her glasses as a lock of white hair slips from its bun, brushing her cheek. “Honey, it’s the same carnival every year.”

“For a hundred years?” Angie asks straight-faced and then giggles.

“Not quite but close enough,” Delores replies.

“How come you don’t retire, Miss Dee?”

“And miss out on working Christmas Eve?” Delores shoos her off with a huff. “Get going and have a Merry Christmas now. I’ll see you Monday.”

Angie gives her an awkward kiss on the cheek and echoes a “Merry Christmas” before letting herself out.

As Angie’s taillights turn the corner, Delores picks up the paper and shuffles back to her closet-sized office. She rummages in the bottom drawer of her old metal desk, unearthing the small box she stashed there a year ago and leaving the paper behind. From the box, she gently lifts a snow globe the size of a plum.

Back at the counter, she places the magic ball before her, adjusting her glasses to better see the tiny carnival inside, its eternal snow blanketing the painted fairgrounds. With a sigh, she waits, tapping cracked fingernails on the counter, clicking her false teeth, and peering into the night.

The light post at the corner flickers on, attracting swirling bugs like gold dust, and an armadillo in search of insects scurries from the palmetto and arrowroot at the lot’s edge. That’s the sign she’s been waiting for, and her memory draws near.

Reverently, she shakes the globe, the tiny Ferris wheel and colorful tents caught in a swirling underwater blizzard. In the corner of her eye, Christmas lights trimming the window sparkle on. The diner shines like new, red booths without a single burn or duct-taped patch, floors pristine, the counter gleaming like a sheet of ice. A garland bearing real pinecones drapes the kitchen door. Dainty jelly-jars with sprigs of native mistletoe and sand pine adorn every table. And a Christmas stocking hangs from the counter by the register, filled with gingerbread stars she baked that morning, on sale for a nickel.

In the diner’s corner, The Dean Martin Christmas Album spins on the record player, the needle hitting the vinyl with a soft crackle and hiss. White Christmas fills the warm Gulf air.

She hears it before she sees it. A brand spanking new 1966 Mustang convertible cruises into the lot. The car with its long hood is the color of ripe cherries with a red and white pony interior and Rally wheels that shine like polished silver. The man at the wheel parks by the orange trees that border the diner and glances toward the door, looking disappointed until she hurries over and flips the sign from “Closed” to “Open.”

He smiles and steps from his car, tossing the keys and snatching them from the air like a man with a silver dollar to spend. He’s a few years older than she, maybe twenty, dark-eyed with a halo of black gypsy curls and a black leather jacket. The bells over the door jingle. “Are you open?”

“A little while. It’s Christmas Eve,” she explains, brushing back a blonde lock and fighting a blush. “I was closing, but I can get you some pie or something.”

“Coffee,” he says. “Twenty of them…in a box, if you have one.”

“Twenty?”

“For the carnival.” He gestures over his shoulder.

“I’ll have to brew a pot.” She walks behind the counter. “It’ll take a while.”

“I don’t mind waiting if you don’t,” he says.

He sits at the counter while she scoops coffee into the big percolator and Dean croons I’ll Be Home for Christmas. “Is it fun traveling so much?” she asks, turning to face him, elbows on the counter between them. “Do you ever wish you were home for Christmas?”

From his pocket, he pulls a snow globe and swirls the snow. The tiny carnival inside comes to life as the storm spins. He holds it up between their eyes. “My home,” he replies.

“The carnival,” she whispers, caught in the whirling snow. “How long you been with the carnival?”

“A hundred years,” he replies softly, his words drifting into the air like magic.

She smiles as the snow falls. “Will you stay with the carnival forever?”

“Forever if I could.” His eyes catch hers over the globe. “You sure are pretty. Are you alone?”

“Yes. I was closing.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” She laughs. “Where? Here?”

He nods and reaches across the counter, taking her hand and guiding her to the end and into his arms. Silver Bells sings from the record player as they dance in the center of the diner floor, hand in hand, like a pair of old lovers. He plucks a sprig of mistletoe from a jar, and holding it over her head, kisses her, a first kiss that lays open her heart and seals it like the carnival in a swirling globe of snow.

“I should get back,” he says, finally letting her go.

“Oh, the coffee!” She laughs and hurries behind the counter. In minutes, the steaming coffee cups are nestled in a sturdy box. “That’ll be three dollars, please.”

“Leave the globe on the counter next Christmas Eve,” he says as he hands her four singles and cants his head toward the snow-laced carnival. “I’ll come home for Christmas.”

“For a hundred years?” she asks.

“I’ve loved you a long time already.” He kisses her sweetly and picks up the box. She holds the door open to the balmy night and watches as the red mustang crosses the track and glides under the carnival gate.

“I’ll wait for you,” she whispers and flips the sign to closed. Silent Night ends with heavenly peace, and the record player’s arm lifts.

Delores drags her feet to the office and tucks the snow globe in its box in the desk drawer. She pulls out the paper and rereads the old article about a young carnival worker killed in a Ferris wheel accident back in ‘66. David Williams. She’d never asked his name that night.

The paper slides into a plastic bag and joins the small box. Back in the front room, she switches off the old diner’s lights and steps outside to lock the door.

Across the tracks, the carnival is a radiant haze of color and light. “Merry Christmas, David. See you next year.”

My thanks to Diana for this amazing story and I am sure that you will enjoy her books too.

About D. Wallace Peach

I didn’t care for reading as a child – I preferred Bonanza and Beverly Hillbillies reruns, Saturday morning cartoons and the Ed Sullivan show. Then one day, I opened a book titled The Hobbit. Tolkien … literally changed my life.

I love writing, and have the privilege to pursue my passion full time. I’m still exploring the fantasy genre, trying out new points of view, creating optimistic works with light-hearted endings, and delving into the grim and gritty what-ifs of a post-apocalyptic world. Forgive me if I seem untethered in my offering of reads. Perhaps one day, I’ll settle into something more reliable. For now, it’s simply an uncharted journey, and I hope you enjoy the adventure as much as I.

D.Wallace Peach has just released her first children’s book, Grumpy Ana and the Grouchy Monsters. Not only written by Diana but illustrated by her too. An amazing amount of work but as you will see from the cover it is fantastic. Available in print only in US, UK and Canada.

About the book

Grumpy Ana Goblyn is sour, dour, and cranky. Her lips droop in a frown. She’s bored with every place and person in her friendly town. With the help of her father, she builds a spaceship and travels to a soggy planet where she meets her perfect monster playmates. But there’s a problem! The monsters see her grouchy frown and think she’s a monster. In this children’s space adventure, Ana discovers that her attitude affects her happiness, and she can change it if she chooses.

Paradise is boring to Grumpy Ana. She climbs into a spaceship and finds her soulmates on a ‘sodden planet with a boggy seaside town.’ She thinks the monsters are as grumpy as she is, but when she scares them off with her attitude, she has an epiphany. Maybe she’s the one with a problem and life back home wasn’t so bad after all. What a delightful book with beautiful illustrations and rhymes that children and their adult readers will love.

About Smorgasbord - Variety is the Spice of Life.

My name is Sally Cronin and I am doing what I love.. Writing. Books, short stories, Haiku and blog posts. My previous jobs are only relevant in as much as they have gifted me with a wonderful filing cabinet of memories and experiences which are very useful when putting pen to paper. I move between non-fiction health books and posts and fairy stories, romance and humour. I love variety which is why I called my blog Smorgasbord Invitation and you will find a wide range of subjects. You can find the whole story here.
Find out more at https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/about-me/

Diana, you certainly know how to make magic dance. Your writing is eloquently descriptive and drew me to Dolores’ side as I watched the story unfold. A poignant mix of nostalgia and tender sentiment. Beautiful ❤

Thanks for stopping by to read, Tina, and for the lovely comment. Writing in a way that touches others is a huge honor. I’m very fond of Delores, glad she’s getting a little press. ❤ Happy holiday season. ❤

Oh Diana, so beautiful written (as always) – but so sad. Holding a torch for all these years – alone on Christmas Eve but for a vivid memory of a moment in mind of a hope for a future that will never come true. My heart breaks for anyone and everyone who has ever lost a loved one. Christmas Eve can be the toughest time.
xx,
mgh
(Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMORE dot com)
ADD/EFD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder
“It takes a village to transform a world!

Thank you for the lovely comment, Madlyn. It is a sad one. I like Delores and get teary myself when I read her story. Holidays can be super tough on those mourning the loss of loved ones. They are intense times of “missing” and it can take a long time before the pain fades to sweeter memories. You have a beautiful heart, my friend. ❤

My pleasure, Diana – and thank you for such a lovely acknowledgment. I believe we all think back upon our own “roads not taken” when we read Delores stories – as she soldiers on cheerfully regardless, our own un-shed tears fall for her.

From the rise in depression treatment and suicide stats at the end of the year we know that holidays are bittersweet for many and disturbing for some – especially those who are alone for them. It seems almost as if we choose to focus on the jolly for the sake of our loved ones – which cheers us up as well. Thus the advice to volunteer, etc. Community is so healing – and isolation and loneliness are heartaches.

I hope your holidays are warm and wonderful, and spent surrounded in love.
xx,
mgh

When I did grief counseling, the holidays, all the holidays, were times requiring preparation. The losses are so acute. Thank you for your insights, Madelyn, and warm and wonderful holiday to you too. ❤

You are a brave, empathetic soul indeed to have been a grief counselor. I doubt I have the constitution to do it for more than auxiliary support for the occasional client — especially during the holidays.

Reblogged this on Myths of the Mirror and commented:
The Christmas season has shifted into high gear, and I’m so pleased to reblog The Snow Globe, a short story from my archives that Sally Cronin was kind enough to share. I hope you enjoy it.

Diana, a beautiful, gentle story that dares to be slow in its pace and effectively so. I was drawn further and further in, my heart going out to Delores. You set the scene perfectly, building up layers of description and I love how the idea of the Snow Globe mirroring the fair. I’m sniffling a bit…but sure that is the cold! 😀More like this, please!!!❤️

Sally, a wonderful archive post to share for the season…ones like these should come with a tissue needed warning!😀

Thanks, Annika. I didn’t feel this one should be rushed. I wanted readers to fully appreciate Delores as a whole human being (and work up some sniffles, too. Ha ha). I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Merry Christmas, my friend. ❤

Thanks so much, Balroop. I like flash fiction, but sometimes longer tales are needed to really capture the whole scene and pull at the heartstrings. Wishing you a season filled with much joy, my friend. ❤

Diana, what a wonderful story you written. Snow Globe just catches your heart and
mind. Oh, I admit to a tear but also a smile at the love that always was and will be.
Have a wonderful Christmas
miriam

What a lovely little story!!! The best Christmas stories, starting with A Christmas Carol, have a touch of the supernatural about them; this one joins some very fine company, Diana.

I enjoyed “The Snow Globe” for a more personal reason, too: I loved working at the local retail shops — the deli and the video store, etc. — on Christmas Eve when I was a kid, because it was the best time to interact with friends and neighbors: No one was angry; no one was stressed; no one had anything but nice things to say. I wish I had a counter to sit behind every Christmas Eve to feel that small act of magic again…

Thanks so much for reading, Kim. I’m glad you enjoyed Delores’s story despite the touch of sadness. She’s a dear soul. Merry Christmas to you and I hope your new year is full of sweet without the bitter. ❤

I got a tingle up my spine as I neared the end of this extraordinary story full of realism, softened with the glow of magic. Ahhhh, thank you Diana! Merry Christmas to you, and to Sally for sharing these sparkling stories.

I’m all for tingly spines, Pam. Thanks so much for stopping by to read, for the lovely comment and sweet holiday wishes. Sally is generous indeed in sharing our stories. btw – I started The Right Wrong Man last night, and so far, I’m just loving it! ❤

This is such a gorgeous story, Diana. Carnivals, the 1960s, and snow globes are many of my favorite things already, then add in such a wonderful character as Delores and the elements of a bit of time travel and history at Christmas and that really does it. I needed a tissue, but feel wonderfully touched after reading this. Thank you, Diana. Thank you also for sharing this precious story, Sally. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to both of you. xoxo

Thanks so much, Lana, for the touching comment. You hit on all the little elements that I hoped to get across and I’m glad it brought a tear… a brief one, I hope. Those down-home characters can really move us, as you know. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you too. ❤